Empty
by youroctober
Summary: As Harry is killed in the final battle against Voldemort, Ginny and Hermione are left to try and find some sort of meaning in their fragile lives.


Empty

Alright, fine, I'll admit it. I'm in love with stories that are sad and filled with desperation and tragedy. It's my humiliating, secret love affair. I also think it's been made quite evident by the fact that most of my one-shots aren't exactly cheerful. Of course, I couple the despair with raging, passionate sex. I think that says a lot about me.

* * *

Hermione perched her elbows on the edge of the window, gazing outside sullenly. The vegetable patch was sprawled out below, the stout form of Professor Sprout heading towards Greenhouse Two. She followed the Herbology teacher with her eyes until an owl hooted waspishly. She pulled away from its path, allowing the bird to stretch its wings and soar off into the morning sky. It was still early, and the sun was not yet fully hung in the sky. The clouds drifted peacefully amidst the pink and orange brush strokes decorating the firmament.

Unable to stand the stillness of the Owlery any longer, she slung her heavy book bag over her back and headed down the stairs. She navigated a number of moving staircases, remembering to skip the trick step, until she found herself entering the Great Hall. The enchanted sky above them reflected the same sky that she had just been observing from the stone window.

There were only a handful of students awake this early on a Sunday morning. Several Hufflepuff girls were reading a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ propped up against a goblet of orange juice. A cluster of Ravenclaw students were lazily dipping their spoons into their cereal, having a quiet conversation that was frequently punctuated by loud, drawn-out yawns. The Slytherin table was empty asides from a single boy, a fourth year whose name Hermione didn't know. She attempted to recall his name: as Head Girl, she prized herself on knowing the identities of the greater majority of Hogwarts' students. Unable to remind herself, she took a seat next to Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan, the only Gryffindors at their table.

"'Morning, Hermione," Seamus greeted after swallowing a mouthful of scrambled eggs.

"Good morning," she returned. Filling her plate with sausages and toast, she nodded at Dean, who was incapable of speaking given the large amount of food in his mouth.

As he finally swallowed, Hermione chuckled. "Hungry?" she asked conversationally.

"Starving," he relayed. "Seamus and I have hardly been eating, have we?"  


"Nah," Seamus agreed. In response to Hermione's puzzled look, he continued, "We've been at the pitch between, before and after lessons. We want to make Quidditch Captain, you know, for the tournament."

"Of course," Hermione managed to utter in a very small voice. Pushing away her untouched plate, she muttered a hurried excuse and left the table.

During the school year, given that Hogwarts had operated as Voldemort's institution, the students hadn't held the annual Quidditch tournament. Now, with three weeks remaining, their Headmistress had decided to host a quick competition, purely for fun. The Cup would not be won, but all the same, the players were eager to get back on their brooms and play. It had completely slipped Hermione's mind that the Gryffindors would need a new Captain, given the absence of their old one.

Her throat so tight that it dared to break, Hermione blinked away the hot tears rapidly. She felt her face reddening, and forced herself to take a few deep breaths. She had to hold it off, at least until she reached the Common Room.

Finally in the security of her bed, Hermione allowed the tears to spill down her cheeks. They quickly filled up her mouth, the saltiness burning her lips, causing her to part them and choke back a sob. Her hair became a moist, tangled mess, plastering itself onto her neck and ears. She bit down hard on her pillow, willing herself not to wail. It was several minutes before she trusted herself to pull her teeth away. She wiped her eyes with her sheets, when a sudden voice caused her hand to freeze in mid-air.

"Hermione?"

Hermione quickly rubbed her face free of any wetness, attempted to run her fingers through her hair, and took a shaky breath.

"Yes?"

"Are you alright?" Hermione now recognized the voice. It was Ginny Weasley's. Squinting in the darkness, she could make out the girl's form behind the drapes. Hermione pulled these aside, revealing the redhead.

"I saw you running up the stairs," Ginny whispered. "Is everything okay?"

Hermione nodded half-heartedly. Peering around the Dormitory, she saw that only two of the beds were occupied. The girls in question were now stirring sleepily. Most of the students had returned home once exams and lessons had been cancelled.

"Mind if I sit?" Hermione nodded again, and Ginny took a seat at the edge of her bed, curling her legs underneath her. "My legs always get sleepy like this," Ginny grimaced, shifting positions slightly.

Hermione smiled weakly.

"So, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, honestly," Hermione lied. Ginny raised her eyebrows. Apparently, Hermione's blotchy face and red-rimmed eyes were doing little to support her story. The sun was now pouring in from the windows, and she imagined that the signs of her crying were still evident.

The two were silent as the other occupants of the Dormitory shuffled downstairs, stretching and mumbling to one another.

"It's him, isn't it?" Ginny whispered, head bowed, as the last murmurs of the older girls faded.

"Yes," Hermione admitted. There was little point in lying, as she and Ginny both knew of each other's insurmountable grief.

"I keep thinking of him," the youngest Weasley maintained. "Everything reminds me of him. Everything. I'm horrible at Quidditch nowadays, I keep expecting to see him shoot by on his Firebolt."

Hermione reached out automatically and grasped Ginny's hand, stroking its soft surface with gentle care.

"I know," she croaked, horrified to hear how miserable she sounded. "I keep hearing him at night. I wake up expecting to go down into the Common Room and see him there, plotting away with Ron on how to catch Malfoy and have him expelled."

"Ron can't take it," Ginny pronounced sadly. "He was his best mate."

"I know," she sighed. "I just wish there was something I could say to have him realize that none of this is his fault."

"Ron's always been bad-tempered," Ginny reasoned, "and he's stubborn. He won't listen to logic. In his mind, he killed Harry."

The very sound of his name made Hermione whimper out loud.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Ginny gasped, taking Hermione in her arms and petting her back. "I know you hate the name, I'm so sorry, I wasn't thinking."

"I really shouldn't," Hermione sniffed into her friend's shoulder. "Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself."

"Sounds like something Dumbledore would say."

"Something like that, yes."

"Are you afraid of him?" Ginny queried, now trailing her hands through Hermione's hair slowly.

"Not of him," was the reply, "but of how he's made me feel. I've been sad before, Ginny, but not like this. This is beyond sad, this is pure misery and grief. It scares me to think of how badly I'm being hurt."

"Me too."

They sat like that for many moments, each lost in her own reverie. Finally, Hermione pulled away softly.

"I feel empty," she stated simply. "I know it sounds ridiculous, but I do."

"It's not ridiculous," Ginny argued.

"Yes it is," she shot back, "it's silly, and yet, I feel completely numb. I feel as though anything could happen, and I'd remain unchanged."

"It's not ridiculous," her voice became more tender than ever.

"It is, and I can't believe-"

But what Hermione could not believe, Ginny would never know, for at that moment the younger girl had captured her lips in a hungry kiss. As her tongue forced its way inside, it spoke novels in seconds. It told of desire, of a need, of something greater than either of them could comprehend at the moment.

Ginny crawled over Hermione, forcing the other girl to fall onto her back. Fingers now roughly pushed Hermione's shirt up to her chin, revealing a pair of rounded breasts. Ignoring the fact that Hermione had chosen not to wear a bra that day, Ginny took a pert nipple into her mouth. She pressed into the warm flesh, lapping at the pink nipple rapidly. Moans could now be heard, filling the entire room. Hermione had her hands tangled in a mass of red hair, and was arching her back in need.

"Oh God, Ginny…" Hermione trailed off as her skirt was pushed up. Ginny took no time to pause, and before the bookworm knew what hit her an experienced finger was rubbing her swollen clit. "That feels…yes…that feels so…Ginny…" Hermione whimpered frantically, unable to string her sentences together. She felt the sensation building up around her clit, propagating itself into her stomach, lining her back and filling her legs. As she begged for release, she received it: her eyes shut tight as powerful spasms racked her body. These had not fully subsided before Ginny began to lick up the spilled juices, making sure to fill her mouth with the sticky liquid.

She climbed back onto Hermione, who went to grab one of her breasts. However, Ginny pushed her away, smiling gently. She kissed her cheek, which was still slightly wet from crying.

"I love you," Hermione muttered.

"I love you too."

"Ginny?"

"Hermione?"

"I still feel empty."

"I know. Me too."


End file.
